“Elaborate as well?” Sophie asked.
“The dinner party I attended featured a scantily clad young woman as the table centerpiece,” Sir Frederick said by way of answer.
Sophie’s eyes grew round. “Why ever would he do that?”
Alex chuckled. “There is little hope in grasping the complexities of Prinny’s mind. I suggest you not attempt it.”
“Oh.” Sophie stifled a nervous laugh. “It’s not funny, of course….”
“Of course,” Alex agreed, not bothering to hide his own amusement.
“And he is our Prince Regent,” Sophie continued.
“God help us,” Sir Frederick offered.
“But, and I hope you don’t think this terribly unpatriotic of me, but could he…that is…do you suppose he might take after his father?”
The men laughed outright at that.
She smiled and tried not to squirm in her chair. King George was as mad as a hatter. A sad fact in and of itself, but the idea that the man who promised to pay her a fortune for spying on prominent citizens of London might be unhinged as well was truly disturbing.
“Don’t look so frightened, Sophie,” Alex chuckled. “We promise not to denounce you for treason.”
Sophie shot him a quelling glance for using her given name in front of Sir Frederick. He smiled innocently.
“I don’t think Prinny’s mad,” Sir Frederick said, seemingly oblivious to the silent communication. “Just very, very eccentric and probably not overly bright.”
“Actually, he’s fairly clever,” Alex commented. “But he has an alarming propensity for drowning his best attributes with spirits and laudanum.”
Sir Frederick nodded and finished off his tea before standing. “It’s time I was going. Thank you for a lovely afternoon, Miss Everton. I hope I may call on you again? Excellent. Rockeforte, pleasure seeing you again.”
“Sir Frederick.”
Alex waited for him to leave before turning his attention to Sophie. “You look pleased with yourself.”
Sophie gave a small smile. She was pleased with herself. Things had gone very well with Sir Frederick.
“Care to tell me why?” Alex inquired casually.
“Not really.”
“I expected as much. Come for a walk with me.”
“A walk?” She looked out the windows as if confirming something. “It’s raining.”
“A light misting,” he countered.
“It could downpour at any minute.”
“Surely not. It’s been fairly consistent all day.”
“I don’t think that’s a reliable means of predicting the weather.”
“Have you never taken a walk in the rain, Sophie?”
“Yes, I have but….”
“But?”
“But not since I was a child. Not intentionally anyway. Mrs. Summers wouldn’t approve.”
“Ah, the elusive Mrs. Summers. Where is that extraordinarily lax guardian of your virtue anyway?”
“Out visiting old friends, and mind your tone when you speak of her. I won’t tolerate insults.”
“You misunderstand, sweetheart.”
She blushed at the term of endearment.
“I wouldn’t dream of speaking ill against the woman,” he continued, rising from his chair. “I adore her negligence. In fact, I’m counting on it.”
“What are you doing?”
“Moving closer to you.”
“Why?”
“I should think that would be obvious.”
“Well, don’t.”
Alex settled himself next to her and then, before she even realized what he was about, he’d scooped her up onto his lap.
“Alex!” She struggled to get up, but it was a futile effort at best, at worst an embarrassing one. His arms were like bands of rope.
“See now, isn’t this better?” Alex wasn’t entirely sure it was better. There was something hard poking into his back, and his seat felt as if it were sitting on a pile of rocks.
“Good Lord, what is wrong with this thing?”
“It’s old,” she snapped. “Go back over there.” She stopped trying to push herself up and pointed at his abandoned seat.
“An excellent notion,” he replied, sliding an arm beneath her knees.
“By yourself,” she clarified.
“And leave you to the mercy of that lumpy old thing? Nonsense. Stop squirming, sweet. I’d hate to drop you. I have my pride, you know.”
“I hope you strain your back,” she grumbled.
He didn’t dignify that with an answer. Instead he sat down with a contented sigh and settled her more comfortably in his lap. “Ah, now this is better. Why haven’t you gotten rid of that?” He jerked his chin toward the offending settee.
Because she couldn’t afford it. The accounts in her name did not extend to home furnishings.
“Because I like it,” she lied, trying to ignore the way one of his hands was playing with her foot. “I believe it belonged to my grandmother.”
She believed it might have belonged to her grandmother, which was very nearly the same thing.
Alex eyed it dubiously. “Your great-great-grandmother at the very least. And as she would be very, very dead by now, I believe you could dispose of it without injuring her feelings.” His hand slipped up to her ankle.